Tumble Dry
by owlcroft
Summary: Need some fluff? Look no further.


A/N: As always, there's no profit made from these characters, who were created by someone else.

Dedication: For a special someone who's in desperate need of some fluff.

TUMBLE DRY

by

Owlcroft

"McCormick! Mc-COR-MICK!"

"I'm down here, Judge," Mark yelled back irritably. He settled back against the battered old table next to the dryer and glared at the loudly humming machine.

"You gonna take all day with that?" Hardcastle stomped down the wooden stairs and folded his brawny arms. "We're supposed to down at the P.A.L. club in twenty-five minutes. Takes that long just to get to Santa Monica this time of day."

McCormick shrugged without taking his eyes from the dryer. "It's taking forever to dry. I don't know about this fluff cycle stuff."

"Fluff cycle? What's a fluff cycle?" The judge unfolded his arms and hitched a hip on the corner of the table next to the younger man.

"No idea." Mark ran a hand through his unruly curls and shrugged again. "I'm gonna give up and go back to the regular setting in another five minutes."

Hardcastle hoisted his brows and snorted. "Don't tell me. You met some girl at the post office and she told you to try using the fluff cycle, right?"

"Almost. It was the supermarket and I was looking at all the different bottles of soap and bleach and softener and static cling stuff." He broke off his narrative to look inquisitively at the judge. "You ever have a problem with static cling?"

"Nah." The judge paused and wrinkled a brow in thought. "At least, I don't _think _so."

"Me, either. Anyway, I guess she figured I needed some advice, 'cause she told me to use this "Nature's Breeze" goop and to try the fluff cycle." McCormick glowered suddenly. "You think she was just putting me on?"

"Probably. "Nature's Breeze", huh?" Hardcastle cautiously uncapped the small green jug and sniffed at the contents. "Aah! Smells like a polecat died in a bed of roses."

Mark took the jug from him, sniffed at it cautiously, then sighed and up-ended it over the laundry sink, running the water full blast to wash it away. "Yeah, she musta had a real good laugh out in the parking lot. Look, you go on ahead in the truck. I'm just gonna re-do the whole load and dry it on regular or high or whatever that little thing used to point to."

"Nothing wrong with that dryer, kiddo. It's a classic model." The judge held his chin up and regarded the twenty-year old laundry appliance complacently. "They don't make drum rollers like that anymore."

"Classic, yeah. Antique is more like it." McCormick shoved the laundry basket in front of the dryer, opened the little door, and began to haul out sodden towels and t-shirts. "I'll catch up to you in an hour or two. You go on."

Hardcastle settled more comfortably on the table corner. "We used to have clotheslines. Hang the wash outside and let the wind and the sun and the fresh air take care of that chore. Might be room outside by the pool for a clothesline. I remember the way things smelled when they were line-dried. They smelled _clean_."

"They also smell like little birdies had sat on them? Maybe some of the dirt from the fields where the tractor was plowing kinda got on there, too?"

"Well, okay, maybe it wasn't completely . . . _hygienic_." Hardcastle mulled that over for a moment. "Yeah, it probably wasn't hygienic at all, come to think of it."

Mark threw him a cock-eyed smile as he piled laundry back into the washer. "Good. I was afraid you were gonna tell me to go out back and cook up a kettle of lye soap and do the laundry in the 'crick'."

"Hah," the judge grinned back him. "Wouldn't hurt a bit to have some old-fashioned lye soap around here. Good for lotsa stuff."

"Judge, if you want to wash your hands in pig fat and ashes, you go right ahead. I'm sticking to the new-fangled soap."

"Nothing wrong with old-fashioned things." Hardcastle bent and retrieved an errant sock and tossed it into the open washing machine. "Some of them, at least."

McCormick closed the lid with a bang and started the wash cycle. "I never said there was. I'm just glad you're modern enough to have a washer and dryer at all. And no, I'm _not _hanging up a rope by the pool to dry your jockey shorts. You use a washer, you can use a dryer, too."

The judge ruminated for a moment. "Some things just seem to go together, ya know? Washer and dryer. Ham and eggs. Salt and pepper."

"Oil change and lube job," Mark grinned at him. "Listen, if you don't hustle, you're gonna be late."

"No sense taking the truck _and_ the Coyote. There's plenty of other guys who could referee for the kids." Hardcastle waved a hand. "Tell you what, I'll see if Jim Boyce can swap me for tomorrow. We'll get the laundry done and check out a couple of other things that go together. How about pizza and beer? A John Wayne movie and popcorn."

"A polecat and a bed of roses?" Mark headed toward the stairs.

Hardcastle started after him. "The Lone Ranger and Tonto."

"Batman and Robin." McCormick held the door for the judge, then followed him through.

As the door closed on the sloshing sound of laundry, the judge added, "Dryer lint and fluff."

finis


End file.
